I sit here wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.
I mean it seriously, am I really a terrible person?
I can only imagine that answer is yes.
What kind of pathetic woman am I?
I get left by men for taller, skinnier people.
Every. Damn. Time.
What the hell am I supposed to think of that?
It is too coincidental to happen again.
The problem is me. It is always me.
The constant factor.
The known variable.
Excuse me while I hide in my corner and pretend to not be alive anymore.
You told me you loved me.
You told me you cared.
But I am still here alone
and I see you smiling with her.
Did you forget who I am?
You tried to proclaim her tallness and current ownership of you as proof of her willigness to fight.
Let me remind you who you are fucking with:
Top down, sunglasses on.
90 mph in Idaho fields.
I wear my heart on my sleeve and I know you like the way that looks.
I have razor cut hair and arms and thighs.
I took a hammer to your tv and a fist to your eyes.
I burned your shirts and broke your cds on a empty lot, with you on your knees.
I’d fuck you in bathrooms, in alleyways and watch you beg all night.
Stolen couches and cell phones and wrapped in Christmas lights.
Don’t pretend you can’t remember this whiskey fueled life. I took a pistol to the desert and I wrapped up bullets in the trunk. You seem to forget that Bonnie was an excellent shot.
I am not the one you want to look into your eyes.
I will jump in your car.
Your smoking ass on the platform.
I will force truth through your lies.
I am a kindling fire.
I am a raging flame.
I will burn through your madness as you recall I am the one insane.